A Slayer Lost
by Angelus1
Summary: Buffy begs Spike to turn her, and so begins their new life together.
1. Free Of This Life

Title: A Slayer Lost (1/11: Free Of This Life)  
  
Author: Angelus  
  
E-mail: angelus1317@hotmail.com (Please put "A Slayer Lost" on the subject line.)  
  
Subject: Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
Category: BSR  
  
Rating: R.  
  
Summary: Buffy asks Spike to turn her, and so begins a new life for the Slayer and her vampire lover.  
  
Spoilers: A couple of tiny ones. You probably wouldn't even count them as spoilers.  
  
Archive: Anywhere, just please let me know first.  
  
Disclaimer: Yeah, right, sure I own 'em. In my dreams. Buffy, Dawn, Spike, Willow, Giles, Xander, and other characters mentioned are the property of Joss Whedon, WGN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Author's notes: OK, first I want to explain that this is the most whacked-up timeline ever. Buffy and Spike have met Halfrek, but Xander and Anya are still happily engaged. The Halloween episode never happened, Giles is in England, and Tara has kinda disappeared off the face of the earth. I apologize to Tara fans - I forgot to include her when I wrote this, then I didn't have the time nor patience to go back and write her in. The reason Spike can hurt Buffy is because when she came back, not all of her soul came back with her, and his chip doesn't register her as completely human. And last but not least, humans are turned into vampires by the exchange of blood on three consecutive nights. I realize that there is more than one belief in that area, none of which are necessarily wrong, but that's the path I chose to take with this story. And I will apologize now for Buffy being a bit out of character.  
  
ALSO: This was originally an NC-17 fic. I love it so much that I edited it, taking out most all of the sex, so that it's now an R, but I just don't think it flows as well. If you enjoy NC-17, it's posted under the same authorname at AdultFanFiction.Net.  
  
Dedication: To Nikki and Elizabeth. Nikki, neither one of us would have ever guessed that I'd get more obsessed with this show than you, huh? But on a more serious note, I love both of you guys *so* much. I've had a bunch of tough shit to go through in the past few weeks that made me realize just how few people I can actually trust, and I'm so happy to have you two to rely on. Thank you both so much for everything.  
  
~*~  
  
"I want you to turn me," she says one night while they're in bed. The shock of her words makes him pause before their meaning actually sinks in. She was thinking while they were shagging? That wasn't supposed to happen. Oh, hell, maybe he was losing his touch. Wait, what did she just say? He can do nothing but blink.  
  
"Spike, hello? Important topic here," she reminds him. As if he's forgotten.  
  
"Bloody hell," he mutters. Why now? Why can't they just finish shagging first so the blood can flow back to his brain so that he can actually think?  
  
"Is that *all* you have to say?" she asks incredulously.  
  
"You can't be bloody serious." At this, she pushes him off of her and stands, pulling the sheets with her to cover herself.  
  
"Of course I'm serious!" she exclaims. "You think this is something I just joke about with master vampires on a daily basis?"  
  
"Well, you're the one whose brain decided to take a walk while we were shagging!" he tosses back at her. "How do you think that makes me feel?"  
  
Her head hangs. "It doesn't matter," she says softly. "This isn't about you."  
  
"Bollocks," he replies. "Like hell it isn't about me. You love me, Slayer, and you know it - 'else you wouldn't keep coming back here, begging for more." She stands motionless, looking like nothing but an ancient Greek marble statue., the white sheets draped over her like a toga. She makes no comment as he rises from the bed to pull on a pair of jeans, and she lets him approach, lets him take her chin in his hand and tilt it upwards, forcing her to meet his eyes.  
  
"What is it, Buffy?" he asks, genuine concern shining through his eyes to match the tears shining through hers. He sits her down on the bed and holds her as she cries.  
  
"I'm sick of it," she tells him. "Sick of this life. I'm sick of not knowing what's right and what's wrong. I'm sick of having to hide, I'm sick of feeling guilty every time I come here to see you, and I'm sick of having everyone coddle me like I'm made of glass. It's not going to stop, Spike. Like it or not, you'll always be a vampire, and I'll always be the Slayer, and Xander and Anya and Willow and Giles will always treat me like I just crawled out of that coffin yesterday. But there's a way out - I die, and another Slayer is called. Someone else can wear the weight of the world on their shoulders, and I'm free."  
  
"Slayer, you don't know what it's like..."  
  
"I've been fighting since I was fifteen, Spike. Don't think I don't know what the whole vamp package entails."  
  
"I don't doubt that you do," he assures her. "But have you ever lived it yourself? Have you ever hunted after one of your own kind? Have you ever been trapped in some godforsaken place for hours on end simply because the sun was out? Have you ever..." His voice broke. "Have you ever watched someone you loved grow old and die while you could do nothing but sit by and watch? Buffy, I would give my left arm - and my right, and my legs for that matter - to have what you have. And you're willing to give that up?"  
  
She reaches forward to chain her arms around his neck, letting the sheet fall to the ground, pressing her bare chest to his and melding their mouths together.  
  
"Yes," she answers simply after releasing him. "If it would mean being able to be with you forever."  
  
He is reluctant still. "Slayer, I don't think..." he begins to protest, but she silences him again with a kiss, pushing him backwards so that he is sprawled on his back on the bed, and she straddles him, leaning forward to whisper in his ear as she lays on top of him.  
  
"Just think how wonderful it would be," she murmurs. "You and me. Together. Feeding together at night, spending the day holed up in some seedy motel room, making love until the sun goes down. We'd make a great team, William. We could find a way to get that chip of yours out, go massacre a few towns, wreak havoc...isn't that what you want?"  
  
"Hell, we could even give good old Peaches a ring," he jokes. "Shag him into soul-losing and bring him along for the ride." When he looks down at her, however, her eyes are shining, and she can think of nothing but the three of them together. She doesn't look like his Slayer anymore. He doesn't know what she's become, but it's a far cry from the soft, fragile, kick-ass beauty he fell in love with. Still, he can't help but cater to her every whim, and he gently takes her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to rain soft kisses across her knuckles. Perhaps this will change things; make things better for them.  
  
"As you wish, Princess," he promises. The eyes light up again, and the kiss he receives is enough to make up for all of his fears and doubts. 


	2. The Blood Is Life

A Slayer Lost (2/11: The Blood Is Life)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
  
~*~  
  
She left him that night; left him alone with his own thoughts, but promised to come back the next night. And come back she did.  
  
He had never seen her look more beautiful than she did standing at his doorway, her arms held out to him. Her small, slender body and its lush curves were outlined in a strappy skintight dress the color of blood. Fitting, he thought. Her blonde curls were pulled off of her face, then cascaded down her shoulders like a golden waterfall. Her lips were pink and plump and her skin carried the proud bronzed glow of a true Californian girl, but still Spike found himself imagining her already as his vampire queen, as Drusilla had once been. Only where Dru was weak, Buffy was strong; where she was dark, Buffy was light, and where she was flighty and unpredictable, Buffy was solid and unchanging; as loyal to him as he was to her.  
  
"C'mere, luv," he urged her, outstretching his own arms to take her hands in his and draw her forward. Their fingers intertwined, and seconds later their mouths followed suit as they shared the tenderest of kisses.  
  
Tenderness progressed into passion, and soon Spike's hands found themselves on her shoulders, sliding down the straps before letting the material pool around her ankles, leaving her body bared to him.  
  
"Cor, pet, you're so bloody beautiful," he breathed into her ear, and lowered her to the bed beneath them.  
  
They took their time with one another, kissing and caressing each available body part, memorizing this feeling for the near future, when they would no longer be Slayer and vampire, but vampire and vampire, strong and proud; equals in status as they always had been in spirit.  
  
When he knew she was close to the edge, he paused, looking down at her.  
  
"Are you ready, sweetheart?" he asked. Heavy-lidded, passion-drugged eyes focused blearily on his own with an unmistakable certainty.  
  
She nodded.  
  
All at once, Spike sank his teeth into her delicate throat, knowing the first time to often be painful. Sure enough, she screamed, whether from pain or pleasure or both he was unsure. All he knew was that what he himself was feeling was nothing less than pure ecstasy.  
  
Never had he experienced anything so powerful. Her blood flowing into him. And not just blood, of course; the blood of the Slayer. A sweeter, headier, more potent taste than he had ever experienced. Even more so than either Slayer he'd killed in the past; neither of them has given themselves to him willingly and freely; neither of them had loved him.  
  
After what seemed like hours, Spike extracted his fangs from Buffy's neck before he took too much. She purred happily as he rolled them over onto their backs, lapping at the wound.  
  
"So...what now?" she murmured against his bare chest.  
  
"Now it's your turn."  
  
"Mmm...my turn. What do I have to do?" she asked sleepily. He gently moved her off of him to take hold of a large, ornately carved knife sitting on the bedside table. Grimacing against the pain, he sliced through his wrist, creating a jagged cut. Buffy's eyes met his, only halfway comprehending.  
  
"Drink, luv," he urged.  
  
"But..."  
  
"You're the Slayer, you should know these things; a vampire is made by the exchange of blood on three consecutive nights." She stared blankly as the crimson liquid spilled from the ivory skin onto the bedsheets of nearly the same color, mingling with traces of her own. This was it, then; the bond between a vampire and his or her sire; bloods mixing, making them one.  
  
She lifted Spike's wrist to her mouth.  
  
"You won't like it, pet," he warned her, but still she brought the cut to her lips and drank, forcing herself not to break the connection.  
  
It was everything she had experienced with Dracula and more so. Tamping down the gag reflex that threatened to act up at the taste of the sticky metallic liquid, she tasted a taste she somehow knew instinctively to be Spike. It was exhilarating - bringing his life force into her, knowing that he already possessed a part of hers. She tasted, felt, both him and her, as she knew she would come to do many times in the future. Eagerly, she pressed her lips harder against his arm, attempting to bite into the skin above the cut with her blunt incisors, wanting to feel him surrounding her, his life force in her mouth, his body in her body, his breath in her ear. Her own heartbeat pounded in her chest and her head began to spin...  
  
The next thing Buffy knew, Spike was pulling his wrist back. Her ears were still ringing, and her tongue was coated with a thick layer of blood. She met his eyes, and he brought his own blood-covered lips to hers, and their tastes and essences mingled again. Slowly, Spike lowered her to the bed and there they lay, clutching one another tightly, as the sun rose in the sky, spilling its golden light across the horizon. 


	3. Second Death

A Slayer Lost (3/11: Second Death)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
  
~*~  
  
She's in the bathtub. With Spike.  
  
It's quite alot to take in; the fact that she will be doing this forever. Being with him. It doesn't seem possible. Buffy closes her eyes and tries to concentrate on feeling Spike's blood flowing through her veins. She can't feel it.  
  
"What are you thinking about, princess?" he asks from across her. He smiles fondly as he looks at her. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, a few damp tendrils clinging to her shapely porcelain neck, marred by the tiny twin puncture wounds; his mark. He owns her now. Her tiny feet rest against his shoulders, as he alternately kisses and massages them. She smiles at him, and it's brighter than he's ever seen.  
  
"You," she admits. "This. Doing this."  
  
"What about it?" he questions, letting his tongue flick out to trace a path up the center of her foot, smirking when she shudders.  
  
"About how good it's gonna feel to do this every day."  
  
"Right there with you, luv, he assures her. Their's a moment of blissful silence, then she speaks the inevitable:  
  
"So what happens next? What happens when they come looking for me?"  
  
"That's the hard part, luv - they'll want a funeral; a burial."  
  
"No," she insists vehemently. Not again - never."  
  
"Then what do we tell them?"  
  
"How about nothing? We could just run."  
  
"No. Don't do that - they need closure. Let them have that at least."  
  
"Fine. So...what, vamp attack? Tell them they drained the body and dumped it somewhere?"  
  
"They'd know any self-respecting vampire wouldn't do that; they'd show you off before killing you, or even turning you."  
  
"So say that they turned me and I begged you to kill me."  
  
"You sure you want to do that?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
"A moment of silence passes. Buffy bends down to place a gentle kiss on the top of Spike's head as he continues to play with her nipple between his teeth.  
  
"What will happen to my..." She swallows, and he can feel the mouthful of saliva go all the way down. "...*body*, then?" She says this with a touch of apprehension, as could be expected.  
"I suppose I'll keep it here," he answers. "You needn't worry about it being safe that way. And I like the idea of my face being the first thing you see. Someone's gotta show you the ropes; granted, my sire was a bit off in the head, so I never got a right proper teaching, but I figure I can manage with you." Another beat of silence and he stands, pulling her with him.  
  
"Come now, kitten - let's get you out of this tub 'fore you turn into a prune. She smiles up at him.  
  
"Another advantage to being a creature of the night?" she asks. A bright smile lights up his face.  
  
"Exactly," he answers, giving her a kiss on the tip of her nose. He wraps her up in a large, fluffy white towel and wraps another around his waist, then leads her back into the main living quarters. The sun's already down; he can feel it. So he pulls open the curtains that usually cover a small window near the stone ceiling. Moonlight pours into the room, mingling with the softer golden glow of the candles spread liberally around the room.  
  
"It's time," he murmurs. She takes his hand, using her sharp little nail to make a slit across his palm, noticing that the wound from last night has almost completely healed.  
  
"I'm supposed to go first," he informs her, a touch of amusement in his voice. She shrugs.  
  
"Screw tradition."  
  
It's different tonight; more familiar. She can almost imagine doing this every night. He tastes sweeter. And this time, she knows when to stop. She pulls back, licking her lips, then laves the cut with her tongue until it stops bleeding.  
  
"*Now* it's your turn," she says, and he smiles before bending his mouth down to her neck. His face changes, out of her line of sight, and his teeth find the indentations from last night. He's not the first vampire to mark her, he knows - but he's the first to do it two nights in a row. He can taste the faintest hint of Dracula, Angel, and the Master; he doubts it will ever go away. But he can accept that, knowing that soon - so soon - she will be his. Forever  
  
After he stops sucking, they collapse once again back onto the bed, his fangs still buried in her neck, the damp towels still wrapped around them both. 


	4. En Flagrante Delictum

A Slayer Lost (4/11: En Flagrante Delictum)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
  
~*~  
  
On the third day, he told her what to expect. They laid still on the bed, but the towels had been long since removed. She was scared, as could be expected, as she curled up in his arms and listened quietly as he told her the tale of his own turning.  
  
"I wasn't what you'd expect - I was a right bloody wanker at that age, I was - no better than that sodding poofter in L.A. Wrote poetry, had no spine, wandered around feeling sorry for myself."  
  
"Somehow, I just can't imagine you that way," she mused, her head propped up against her arms, which laid across Spike's chest as her lower body straddled him.  
  
"Believe it, pet. Maybe, if you're good, I'll let you read some of my poems one day."  
  
"You still have them?!" she exclaimed in incredulous disbelief. He shrugged.  
  
"Man can't forget his roots, no matter how pathetic. Anyways, I was in love with this rich bint, name of Cecily. You know her now as Halfrek, but that's another story altogether. Snotty one, she was. Wouldn't give me the time of day. But I followed her around like a bloomin' puppy dog I did. The night I finally got the stones to finally tell her how I felt, she shot me down. A few hours down the road, I ran into Drusilla. Quite literally, actually. She was...god, I don't know how to put it. She called to me. There was nothing left for me in that world, so...I let her bite me." He chuckled, recalling the memory. "Screamed like a baby I did. Few night later, I was out on the prowl with Dru, Darla, and your precious Angelus."  
  
"What's it like?" she asked, choosing to pointedly ignore him calling Angel 'her precious'. If he didn't know by now that he was the only one for her then it was his own fault. She suspected, however, that he did truly know - that the comment had just been made to annoy her. All the more reason to ignore it.  
  
"It's like..." Spike paused, one hand idly reaching up to cup her cheek and caress the side of her face with his thumb. "It's hard to vocalize, ducks. You wake up that first time and everything's different. People aren't just people any more - they're Happy Meals with legs. It seems horrid now, but you gotta remember - your soul goes along with your mortality. That's the part that scares most people away from being turned - the prospect of losing their last link to the human world; what makes them who they are."  
  
"Part of my soul's floating around up there somewhere - why should I care if I lose the rest of it?"  
  
"Only if you're sure."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"Allright then."  
  
They spent the rest of the day like that - curled up in his bed, limbs entwined, heart in tune. In between their frequent rounds of slow, lazy lovemaking, he told her more about his turning and its aftereffects. He told her about crawling his way out of his own grave, at which she shuddered, remembering her own experience. He told her about Darla, and about Angel, and about Dru. He told her about his first kill. All the while, she listened silently, not judging, not regretting the decision she had made - the decision that very soon would be irrevocable. Then he told her what would happen to the two of them.  
  
"We'll be at it all day, kitten - you, me, and Peaches - hunting at night and shagging during the day. We'll got to Rome, to Greece, to Italy - wherever you please. Can you imagine a better life? It's a beautiful thing."  
  
Buffy shivered, but not from the cold. It *was* a beautiful thing, what Spike had just described. She was eager, now - eager to complete this transformation and make her way down to Los Angeles - the City of Angels - to wake up enfolded in the arms of the only two men she had ever loved.  
  
She pounced on Spike, then. Surprised, he offered no resistance. She rode him hard and fast, and they surrendered themselves to the rhythm once again.  
  
"Wow," she commented about fifteen minutes later, once they'd caught their breath.  
  
"Mmmm," was all Spike could manage out, rolling over to bury his face in her neck and snake an arm across her stomach.  
  
"I love you," Buffy murmured as she snuggled closer to her lover. In shock, Spike sat up.  
  
"What?" he exclaimed.  
  
"I love you," Buffy repeated. "Isn't that what you wanted to hear?" He pulled her into a gentle, loving kiss.  
  
"More than you'll ever know," he said. They lay back, content to fall asleep until the sun set.  
  
"Good night, sweetheart."  
  
"Good night, Spike." 


	5. Letting Go

A Slayer Lost (5/11: Letting Go)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
  
~*~  
  
She knows it's time. She thinks she's getting some of the vampire senses from his blood alone, because somehow she knows that the sun's down. Or maybe it's her Slayer senses. Either way, it's almost time. She doesn't just want the completion of the transformation, she needs it; craves it like she imagines she'll be craving blood in about 24 hours. Spike is still asleep beside her, so she nudges him.  
  
He blinks blearily, taking in his surroundings. Seeing her, a smile breaks out across his face.  
  
"It's time, isn't it?" he asks. She nods. "Your last night as a human. Should we be doing something to commemorate it?"  
  
"Only this." Her mouth finds his neck, feeling around with her tongue until her teeth close over his jugular. With motions at first hesitant, then gaining in confidence, she saws back and forth, twisting and biting and cutting at the skin until finally she manages to break through with her incisors. Almost immediately, he vamps, his own teeth barely having time to fully elongate before he sinks them into the pale, delicate flesh of her throat.  
  
It's a truly exquisite feeling; the taking of his own blood as he takes hers. He savors the taste; tries to memorize it and store it in the recesses of his mind for the future when she's no longer human and the Slayer. As he sucks, he slides gently into her. Neither of them moves; it's not about release, it's about comfort; a more intimate form of a hug. His hand travels back upwards, stopping to cradle the small of her back.  
  
Without warning, he removes his fangs from her neck. Feeling him pull out, she follows suit. As painful as this aberration from the pleasure is, he has to stop her, unless they want to stay in this stalemate forever; a bloody equilibrium of giving and receiving.  
  
"That's enough, ducks. You hafta stop now - I hafta..." he trails off, unable to voice the horrible act he's about to commit, with or without her consent.  
  
"Kill me?" she finishes, his blood staining her lips ruby. Unable to resist, he kisses her, tasting himself. Her words, whether she realizes it or not, set the tone of their relationship, with her being the stronger willed of the two, and himself as her whipping-boy.  
  
He wouldn't have it any other way.  
  
"Close your eyes," he whispers, oblivious to the sentiment of the words, and they flutter closed, eager to end that chapter of her life. He places a soft kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight sweetheart," he whispers.  
  
"Good night, Spike," she whispers, before his fangs pierce her flesh once more. This time, they move, albeit slowly. He sucks harder than before, drinking her with increased fervor in large, confident gulps. His hips slowly rotate against hers, but she's nowhere near the edge so that when everything goes black, she's in a quite pleasant stage of limbo.  
  
The motions of Spike's lower body are almost unconscious, for all he's focusing on is her neck. He continues to draw blood from her body, his thrusts becoming unconsciously harder with each swallow. His orgasm sneaks up on him, blossoming in his belly without warning. Her pulse slows and her heartbeat grows fainter; when he comes down, her body is limp in his arms.  
  
Spike can't stop a tear from trickling down the side of his cheek as he pulls out of her. Her lifeless body reminds him too much of the last time he saw her like this. Only last time, he cried tears of sadness. Now, he cries tears of joy.  
  
He presses his head to her breast, holding her close as sleep overtakes him. 


	6. Morning After

A Slayer Lost (6/11: Morning After)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
  
~*~  
  
Spike was awake. He certainly wasn't happy about it, but he was awake. Groggily, he brought a hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes, and felt it brush smooth, cold skin. Reflexively, he jumped back.  
  
What he saw made his eyes start to tear up all over again; Buffy lay on his bed, a tableau of death. The sheets beneath her were soaked through with blood, sweat, and cum - both of theirs. Blood was caked into her hair, smeared across her lips, and dried in large, chunky clots at her neck. Her arms were flung wide across the bed, her legs spreadeagled.  
  
Spike took a deep breath as he wiped his eyes. This was it - he was done crying. He was done - from here on in, he would be nothing but excited for Buffy's coming transformation.  
  
He picked her up, wincing as he tried to separate the sheets that had been cemented to her skin and hair. He cradled her in his arms and brought her into the back. Her arms and legs swung limply, and her head lolled back, but Spike forced himself onward.  
  
In the bathroom, he laid her in the tub the two of them had been in just 48 hours or so ago. Good, he thought. Smile. Good memories. He filled the tub with warm, soapy water and took his time gently cleaning her body, scrubbing away the residue of the last few days with a soft sponge. When her skin was clean, he moved to her hair, working shampoo through the damp, silky strands, then rinsing with a cup that rested on the ledge of the tub. Finally, he drained the tub and turned on the shower head to rinse her off completely.   
  
Getting her out of the tub and dried off turned out to be much more difficult that he had thought, but he managed to brace her against his own still-nude body and wrap one towel around her underneath her arms, the other around her hair. He left her draped across the toilet seat while her ventured back out into the bedroom to change the bedding.  
  
Just as he tossed the soiled sheets into a heap in the corner and replaced them with clean ones, he realized how risky it would be to leave her out in plain sight. He'd have to hide her somewhere...  
  
As disgusting as the idea seemed, his mind settled on the crypt upstairs, which was really the only possible place; he doubted anyone would stumble across her there.  
  
"Oh, the things I do for you, Slayer," he muttered as he climbed the ladder and hoisted himself out of the ladder and hoisted himself out of the manhole to inspect what would soon be her new, temporary living quarters. Sliding the lid off, he peered inside. It was dirty, but that could be fixed. Hurrying downstairs - and stopping on the way to check on Buffy - he grabbed his last pair of clean sheets and used them to line the inside of the sarcophagus, even adding a pillow for her head.  
  
Finally, he laid her in it, removing to the towels and covering her nude form with a blanket. He managed - but just barely - to keep his tears in check as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before replacing the stone lid, sealing her in.  
  
"I love you, Buffy," he told the stone tomb, laying a palm against the cold concrete. Then he turned and climbed back down the ladder to his bedroom. 


	7. PostMortem

A Slayer Lost (7/11: Post-Mortem)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
  
~*~  
  
It only takes Spike a few minutes to shower, washing the blood and sweat and cum off of himself as well. He grabs the first T-shirt and pair of jeans he sees - doesn't matter, they're all black anyway - and pulls them on, intent on doing what he knows he has to do. He lets one hand brush against the lid of the sarcophagus on his way out. Grabbing his trusty burlap sack, he throws it over his head and runs at full speed towards the Magic Box.  
  
As he bursts through the door, skin red and smoking, quite a few customers glance up from their purchases to give him strange looks. Anya glares at him from behind the register.  
  
"Spike!" she hisses as he approaches, removing the blanket. "Get out! You're scaring the customers!" Any other time, he would have found this display amusing. But today, he had other things on his mind.  
  
"It's Buffy," he pants, still slightly out of breath. Anya looks him in the eye, and sees the urgency there. In an uncharacteristic gesture, she announces that the store is closing early. Spike watches from his place at the counter as she hurriedly ushers them out. When the last patron is outside, she slams and locks the door, turning to him with wild, frightened eyes. This is the first time, he realizes, that he's ever seen her truly scared.  
  
"I'll call the others," he volunteers, but she shakes her head.   
  
"They're in the back," she says.  
  
"Right, then. Shall we?" he offers out his arm for support, as she looks as if she's about to collapse, but she brushes past him without a word or acknowledgement of his attempted kindness. Shrugging, because he's used to things being this way, he follows her into the newly-installed training room.  
  
Red and the Whelp are poring over something on her computer screen, while Little Bit sits nearby, twiddling her thumbs. They all look up immediately when the doors open, and Spike realizes the impact that his news, however fabricated, is going to have on them. They haven't seen her for three days and already they're tense and jumpy, dark circles under their eyes. What will they do without her for any longer than this? Not to mention the fact that they've just gotten her back to suddenly lose her all over again...he feels bad, all of the sudden, but knows that Buffy will make him more undead than he already is if she finds that he chickened out.  
  
"What is it? Did you find something? Where is she?" Red exclaims. Anya moves to stand in front of her fiancee, who places a comforting hand on her shoulder that's as much for her benefit as it is for his. Little Bit just looks at him with wide, innocent eyes; feelings of guilt multiply a thousand-fold as all eyes in the room peer expectantly into his.  
  
"Buffy, ah - she..." He curses himself silently - Should've had this prepared ahead of time, you wanker. "She ran into a gang of vamps. Big 'uns, they were - lots. They, uh...they caught her by surprise, and...they got her."  
  
"Oh my god, did they...did they bite her?" Red asks. He nods numbly. She seems to be the only one able to talk: Little bit bursts into tears at the nod, Anya wrings her hands, and the Whelp just glares.  
  
"What happened?" Red asks hesitantly, as if afraid to find out. He doesn't blame her.  
  
"They dragged her back into their little lair," he continues, completely making this up as he goes along. "It's a ways off, outside of town - had a time findin' it, I did - had to rely on smell only. By the time I found it, I was too late - they'd kept her unconscious, forced her to drink their blood. Took out a fair number of 'em, but...I couldn't save her. When she woke up, she had no idea what had happened. I had to tell her the whole story. And then..."  
  
"Then she begged you to kill her," Little Bit sums up. Gotta hand it to the kid, he thinks. She's growin' up fast.  
  
"Yeah," he confirms. There's a moment of silence. He sincerely hopes she thanks him for this when she wakes up - he's earned it. He looks around for something he can do to make this all better and sees Anya.  
  
"You allright, ducks?" he asks. She shakes her head vehemently.  
  
"No, I'm not allright!" she exclaims. "How can you all just *stand* there?! Buffy's *dead*! Don't you remember what happened last time? She's the Slayer; the strong one. What are we supposed to do without her? Without the Buffybot? Whose going to patrol? Willow doesn't have magic anymore, Xander and I are barely of any help at all, and we can't expect Spike to do it all himself. And...and...what about the new Slayer? What if she turns out to be another nut job like Faith? What if she tries to kill us all in our sleep? What if-"   
  
The Whelp holds out his arms and pulls her to his chest. She stops ranting and buries her head in is shoulder, sobbing. Spike clears his throat. Now's not exactly the best time to break the news, but...  
  
"Actually, uh...I'm not staying." All eyes turn towards him once again. "Yeah," he continues. "I, uh...yeah. I gotta get outta here."  
  
"It's okay," Red says softly. "We understand. But...thanks for sticking around the last time." Spike smiles fondly. He'll miss her. And Nibblet, of course. And Anyanka wasn't too bad, either. Hell, he'll probably miss everyone except for Harris.  
  
"What's wrong, Spike? Can't handle the guilt?" the Whelp pipes up, as if on cue, speaking for the first time since he's arrived. Now all eyes turn to him. "What?!" he exclaims, defensive. "You're trying to tell me he didn't enjoy it? Putting a stake through the Slayer? The Slayer who rejected him over and over again? Maybe if he'd moved a little bit faster; maybe if he'd tried a little bit harder; maybe Buffy would still be here."  
  
"Xander!" Anya, Dawn, and Willow exclaim in tandem. At the same time, Spike lunges forward. This is too much; whether she's actually dead or not, he can't believe that this git would dare accuse him of not really loving her. Well, he can, actually - this *is* Xander Harris, after all. But still, he grabs the youth by the throat and slams his back up against a nearby wall. He looks around with wide, frightened eyes as Spike's grip on his throat tightens to where he's just teetering on the edge of strangling the boy.  
  
"Now listen here, Harris," he growls. "I'll not have you talking like that. Not now, not ever. I love Buffy. You can try to disprove and cheapen it all you want, but the truth still stands that I love that girl more than I love my own bloody unlife. I always will love her. Do you understand?"  
  
He nods meekly, struggling to breathe. "Yes, sir. Understood," he manages to make out. Spike glares silently at him for another few seconds, then pull back his hand. The Whelp crashes to the floor in an uncoordinated heap, coughing and panting and wheezing and gasping for breath. With a slight smirk, Spike turns and exits the store, noting on the way that no one rushes to the Whelp's aide.  
  
He makes it to the outside canopy, fussing with his blanket, before all three women are at his side.  
  
"Are you leaving now?" Dawn asks.   
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Well...we could go back to your crypt with you," she suggests eagerly. "You know - help you pack, see you off?"  
  
"No," he insists, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "Why don't we just say goodbye here so I can be on my merry way." She nods. With a smile overflowing with regret, he pulls the girls's sleight frame into his arms.  
  
"Take care of yourself, Bit," he murmurs into her hair. She hugs him so tight he's not sure if she'll ever let go. But finally, she does, her eyes shining with unshed tears.  
  
Anya's next in line. He hugs her, somewhat awkwardly.  
  
"It'll be allright," he assures her. "You four can handle it. And Giles is just a continent away should you get yourselves in a jam. You just concentrate on keeping Harris in line." She smiles, and he knows that she will be allright - she's stringer than she gives herself credit for.  
  
And finally, the witch. He's a bit unsure of what to do - he knows she's got somewhat of mixed feelings about him. But he doesn't have to wait for very long - she launches herself into his arms. When she finally releases him, she smiles.  
  
"What was that for?" He asks, stunned.  
  
"For everything," she says. "Regardless of what happened in the past, you've been an important part of this team for the last two years. I appreciate that - we *all* do. Even if some of us don't exactly know how to show it. He blinks, feeling a tear well up in each eye. Hurriedly, he blinks them back.  
  
"I'm counting on you, Red," he tells her. "To take care of 'em all." She nods. "You're the only one in the lot of 'em I trust enough. Anya needs you, Dawn needs you, and the Whelp needs all the help he can possibly get from anyone. You've gotta be there for them. You quit magic cold turkey all by yourself; this should be a cinch."  
  
He takes a step back, mere centimeters away from the sun, and looks at all of them for what could possibly be the last time. He starts to turn away, before his tear ducts get the better of him.  
  
"Spike!" Nibblet calls. He turns back around to see her barrelling towards him, arms outstretched. He pulls her to his chest once again. Of all of them, he knows he'll undoubtedly miss her the most. No matter what the circumstances, she's never once doubted him or looked down upon him.  
  
"I love you, Nibblet," he murmurs softly. Finally he reaches he reaches back to place a gentle kiss first on her forehead, then on her cheek, then on her upturned lips; her first. Something to always remember him by.  
  
Then he does turn, pulling the blanket over his head as a shield against the scorching sunlight.   
  
He only makes it about fifty feet before the tears begin to fall. 


	8. Okay To Cry

A Slayer Lost (8/11: Okay To Cry)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
  
~*~  
  
Willow stood silently as she watched Spike's retreating form with a wry smile. Sunnydale would certainly never be the same without the peroxided Big Bad.  
  
She looked over her shoulder. Dawn was sobbing, clinging onto Anya like a life preserver. Anya appeared decidedly uncomfortable. For a second, she considered relieving her ant taking Dawnie herself, but Xander was still inside, and Spike was right; he *did* need all the help he could get.  
  
He was still on the floor when she found him, only now he was sobbing. Not that she could blame him; she knew the feeling well. Especially since they had both already gone through all of this once before, not too long ago.  
  
"Xander." she called softly. His tear-streaked face looked over at her as she sat down beside him.  
  
"It's not fair, Will," he said, his anguished voice cracking even on those four short syllables.  
  
"I know," she soothed. "It's not. We just got her back, and now..."  
  
"Now she's gone. Again. Goddamn that fuckin' bastard..."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Who?! Spike! William the Bloody, Captain Peroxide; ringin' any bells?"  
  
"Xander, you can't blame him for this."  
  
"I sure as hell can!"  
  
"He did everything he could to save her. You know he did." Xander's eyes, when they met hers, were filled with shock and disbelief. Even after 20 years of little tiffs with Willow, he never in his life imagined that they'd disagree over something like this.  
  
"No, actually, I don't know. And neither do you. How do you know that *he* wasn't the one that turned her? Huh?!"  
  
Willow's voice was soft and calm compared to his loud shouts; the voice of reason, as always. "I don't. You're right, I don't. Not for positive, anyway. But I *trust* Spike, Xander. He's helped us so many times in the past..."  
  
"Probably equal to the number of times he's plotted to kill us," Xander interjected with a glare. By now, Willow was beginning to get fed up with him.  
  
"God, Xander, haven't you ever heard the expression 'Let bygones be bygones'? We're all willing to accept that what happened in the past happened in the past. Why can't you?"  
  
Xander stood, his arms flailing as he ranted. "Oh, I'm sorry for taking his fangs a little more seriously than, say, him doing something normal, something human, like cheating on a girlfriend."  
  
Willow threw her hands up in the air and glared at her best friend. "Fine. You know what?" she asked. "I give up. That's right, I quit. You think whatever the hell you want to think in your thick-skulled little head."  
  
"Fine," he shot back.  
  
"Fine!" she agreed. There was a beat of silence, and Xander's eyes softened slightly.  
  
"You really trust him?" he asked. Willow nodded.  
  
"He earned it. My trust and yours." Her eyes met Xander's, wide and hopeful, but he looked away.  
  
"That's where you're wrong," he said, and left, brushing past Dawn and Anya entering the store without so much as a "hello".  
  
"What...?" Anya trailed off. Willow just shook her head and motioned for the pair to sit down beside her. Dawn sat to her left, Anya at her right. Putting an arm around both of their shoulders, she drew them close.  
  
"He'll come around," she assured them. "In the meantime, we have each other."  
  
"It'll be allright, won't it?" Dawn asked. Willow bent to kiss her on top of the head.  
  
"Yes, Dawnie," she murmured. "Everything's going to be allright." 


	9. New Dawn

A Slayer Lost (9/11: New Dawn)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
  
~*~  
  
She looks so peaceful lying there, her skin pale, her lips waxy. Her Slayer strength has already started working on the twin puncture wounds on her neck; the blood has clotted and the scars are beginning to disappear. She looks so much different than the last time he saw here like this; like her eyes might pop open any minute. Perhaps its a mental thing, stemming from the knowledge that she *will* eventually wake again, but either way, she still looks gorgeous.  
  
He perches on the edge of the sarcophagus, and sits there for quite awhile, until he begins to get uncomfortable. Finally, he drags a chair up from downstairs. He lights a cigarette and puffs away. When it's done, he drops it to the concrete floor, crushes it under his heel, and lights another. Before he knows it, he's worked his way through an entire pack.   
looking at his watch, it's only 5:07. Still about an hour and a half 'till sunset. He blows out an unnecessary breath, at the same time running a hand through his platinum hair.  
  
Hesitantly, he reaches into the pocket of his duster and pulls out a small brown leather-bound book, its pages yellow and worn. Flipping it open, he selects a page and glances over at the still-motionless Buffy.  
  
"Only for you, luv," he mutters. He clears his throat, then begins to read:  
  
"She walks in sunshine;  
Treading where I not only fear to tread but cannot.  
I watch in darkness;  
Her smile a constant reminder of my inadequacy.  
  
She dances in the sunlight;  
Sparkling and shining like something effulgent, something out of reach.  
I watch from the moonlight;  
Wanting to steal the stars from the sky to match her eyes.  
  
I venture into the light;  
And it burns me almost as much as her touch.  
But then she sneaks into the darkness to be with me;  
And maybe the burns don't feel quite so bad."  
  
When he finishes with the first, he reads another; then another, then another. By the time the sun sinks below the horizon, he's almost finished with the entire book. He smiles fondly down at Buffy, closes the book, slips it back into his coat, then folds his hands and waits.  
  
~*~  
  
Buffy drifts into consciousness as if she had been at the bottom of the ocean and had finally made her way to the surface. Feeling comes back into her limbs and her eyes slowly flutter open. The first things she sees are Spike's chiselled features smiling down upon her like some sort of gorgeous, pale, peroxided fallen angel.  
  
"Spike?" she murmurs. A smile crosses his face; a smile of pure happiness. It's an expression she so rarely sees on him that it makes her heart swell.  
  
"Hush, luv," he whispers, one hand idly stroking her forehead, tears she never thought she would see from him shining in his piercing blue eyes. 


	10. Don't Look Back

A Slayer Lost (10/11: Don't Look Back)  
Angelus   
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
Author's Note: A big thank you goes out to Kathy, for reminding me how long it had been since I'd posted, and for pointing out how abrupt of an ending that was to Chapter 9. But while I'm too lazy to fix that, here's Chapter 10 for your enjoyment. With any luck, I'll be finished with A Slayer Lost and onto part two of Immortal Beloved in a few weeks. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, those kind words mean alot, and are sometimes the only things that keep me going. But enough from me, I *know* all you want is Spike. 'Cuz, well, who doesn't? And who am I to disappoint? On with the porn.....  
  
~*~  
  
When Buffy awoke, it was as if she was alive for the very first time; all her senses were heightened to the point where she was sure than nothing would ever get by her. Though it was dark out, Spike hadn't bothered to light any candles. It didn't matter, though; she could see every detail as clearly as if it were day.  
  
"Amazing, isn't it?" Spike commented. She nodded, then moved to sit up. His hands flew to her back to support her and help her up. "Easy does it," he warned cautiously. At that, Buffy laughed.  
  
"I'm the Slayer, Spike," she reminded him. "When have I ever taken it easy?" She paused. "OK, *was* the Slayer," she corrected herself. "But whatever." Oddly enough, she felt no remorse at leaving that life behind. It was time to move on now.  
  
With Spike's supportive arm around her waist for balance, Buffy climbed out of the crypt. Spike watched intently as she stretched out first her arms, then her legs, then her waist. All of the sudden, she launched into a backflip without any sort of warning. She landed lightly on her feet, giggling like a little girl.  
  
"Well," she said. "I'm pretty spry for a corpse, huh?"  
  
"Don't bloody do that!" Spike exclaimed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. Is this what being with you is going to be like? 'Cuz I might just have to - "  
  
Spike's words were cut off by Buffy's mouth pressing forcefully against his. She wasted no time in worming her tongue in between his lips to trace the line of his gums, begging for entry. He obliged, and before he knew what was happening, he was sprawled on his back in the small sarcophagus, his limbs hanging over the edges, with Buffy squirming on top of him.  
  
Spike sucked in a breath.   
  
She was absolutely gorgeous.  
  
"Buffy, luv, if you're hungry, you need to feed," Spike murmured, talking more to himself than to her. There would be plenty of time for...other activities later. "There's no time to teach you to hunt now, we've got to get on the road before one of your friends decides to wander in here. You could always - " Before he could even finish the sentence, she was upon him, her fangs instinctively finding his jugular and biting, the sheet that he had so carefully wrapped around her sliding off to bare her body to him.  
  
Spike groaned. It had been so long since anyone had bitten him, he had almost forgotten how good it felt. He grabbed her and hauled her roughly against his body, her scent consuming him.As he held her, he bent his head and let his tongue seek out the already-healed puncture wounds on Buffy's neck that he himself had made. It was an amazing feeling - even more than it had been when they had simultaneously shared blood last night.   
  
When he felt her growing weak, Spike pulled his fangs out of his lover's neck, and Buffy followed suit. He shifted effortlessly back into his human mask, forehead smoothing and fangs retracting. Glancing over at Buffy, he saw her frowning, her face still vamped out, struggling for control. Shifting from the human mask was simple, he remembered. It was changing back that was the more difficult part.  
  
"Concentrate, ducks," Spike instructed. "Close your eyes. Buffy did so, biting her lip in concentration. After a few silent moments, the change finally took place, and she morphed back into the Buffy he knew and loved. He loved the new Buffy too, of course - how could he not? It was everything he could ever want. But it would take some getting used to. *This* Buffy, on the other hand, was the Buffy that he'd been familiar with for the past six years, whether kissing him or kicking him, spilling out her heart or crushing his.  
  
"That's my girl," he said softly, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. For a moment they lay there in silence. For Buffy, this was a new experience, not hearing herself breathe, not feeling her heart beating in her chest.  
  
Only then did it truly sink in: she was no longer human. She was a vampire.  
  
"We should go," Spike murmured reluctantly, not wanting to leave her embrace. Sighing, Buffy sat up, stretching in a decidedly feline manner, the sheet falling to her waist yet again. Spike groaned, unable to resist that body. He jerked her to him again. Buffy smiled, laying a hand on the back of his peroxided head, and he relaxed against her.  
  
As they sat, still as stone, Buffy finally got a chance to experience the superior hearing of the undead. Spike's head jerked up, hearing the sound as well.  
  
"Footsteps," he whispered, even though whoever it was was far out of earshot. Habit, he guessed. He cocked his head to the side, his sensitive ears much more trained than hers after centuries of practice.  
  
"Voices," he informed her. Buffy struggled to make sense of the cacophony of noise in her mind. Squeezing her eyes shut, straining her ears, and concentrating, she was finally able to discern three different voices.  
  
"Dawn," she realized.  
  
"And Anya and Red," Spike finished. His eyes darted around the room until they came to rest on the cement cover of the sarcophagus.  
  
"Lay down," he instructed. Buffy laid down. Using the vampire strength that at times almost seemed to rival her Slayer strength, Spike lifted the lid off of the floor and hauled it on top of them, sliding it into place just as the door to the crypt swung open, banging loudly against the wall.  
  
"Dawnie, I'm sure he took all of his stuff with him," the pair heard Willow say softly. Buffy snuggled closer to Spike in the pitch black and clutched his hand as he she heard her little sister sniff back tears. Not bothering the witch with a reply, Dawn climbed down the manhole ladder. After a moment of hesitation, Willow followed the girl, beckoning for Anya to do the same.  
  
"Shit," Buffy muttered when she was sure they were out of earshot. She looked with her enhanced vision to meet her lover's eyes.  
  
"They'll be gone soon enough," he whispered. "We've just gotta wait it out." Sure enough, a few short moments later, the trio climbed back up the ladder into the upper part of the crypt. When he was positive that none of them were looking, Spike cracked the lid of the sarcophagus less than a quarter of an inch and peeked out. Willow and Anya were engaged in heated conversation, while Dawn looked on, clutching in her hands Spike's leather duster.  
  
"Look, let's just end this now, okay?!" Willow exclaimed. "Buffy's gone, Spike's gone. Period, end of story."  
  
"All I'm saying is, he never would have left without that jacket," Anya pointed out innocently. Willow glared.  
  
"It's time to let this go and move on," she continued, as if Anya hadn't said a thing. "Now, we'll all be seeing each other at the funeral. Let's not spoil the rest of the day by fighting." With that, she stormed out of the crypt. Turning to aim a shrug in Dawn's direction, Anya followed.  
  
Dawn hung back, glancing searchingly about the crypt.  
  
"Spike, I know you're here," the youth said. Buffy inhaled sharply at this.  
  
"And I know you can hear me," Dawn continued. "Anya was right - you wouldn't leave without this." She paused, hugging the worn leather. "I don't know why you're hiding, or why you're still here. And now I'm starting to doubt what you told us about Buffy. But that's okay. Because I love you and I trust you, and I know that you love her. So wherever you are, wherever she is, whatever you're trying to pull, just tell her that I love her, too. I'm not going to go looking for you, and I'm not going to beg you to stay, because it's not what you want. Wherever you are, however, and wherever you go, I hope that you're happy. Both of you."  
  
Dawn strode over to the sarcophagus, her eyes unseeing. Spike slowly lowered the lid to the crypt as Dawn outstretched her arms across it, hugging the stone tomb as if it were a person, tears spilling from her cheeks. Below her, Buffy and Spike clung to one another, wishing they could say something to the Nibblet. Neither of them knew how long they lay there, listening to her cry, but eventually her tears dried and she straightened to gaze at the concrete slab one last time.   
  
"I love you, Buffy," she whispered, her voice breaking. "And Spike, I love you, too. Take care of each other." With that, the teen kissed the palm of her hand, then laid it on top of the crypt, almost as if she knew they were there. Finally, however, she left, shutting the door behind her, leaving the crypt silent once again.  
  
"Oh, Spike," Buffy moaned, her sadness and guilt so intense that they were nearly a physical pain. He wrapped two pale arms around her waist and pulled her as close as he could.  
  
"Oh, kitten." he murmured into her hair. "It'll be allright. I promise you, everything will be allright."  
  
Finally acknowledging fully what she had to look forward to and what she would soon leave behind, Buffy wept. 


	11. Burial In Absentia

A Slayer Lost (11/11: Burial In Absentia)  
Angelus angelus1317@hotmail.com  
See first chapter for disclaimer, etc.  
Author's Notes: Oh my God, I'm done. I'm done. Finished. Finito. WHOO-HOO!!! I'm really sorry I took so long. Thank Kathy for urging me along. And next, I have promised Jewls that I will finish Toy Story. I hope that will make the rest of you happy too. In the meantime, I'm also working on a *huge* Buffy/Angel crossover and Immortal Beloved Part Two, tentatively titled Grasshopper. Peace out everybody. Thanks for reading and reviewing.   
  
~*~  
  
The motley crew gathered at the grave site is a small one; it consists of Willow, Tara, Xander, Anya, Giles, Dawn, Angel, Cordelia, and Oz. Willow and Xander clasp hands, Tara and Anya, respectively, clinging to them protectively. Dawn is sandwiched between Tara and Giles, Angel and Cordelia slightly behind them, his arm around her shoulders. And Oz stands off to one side, as if he's not quite sure he should be here, an outsider once again.   
  
They're dressed all in black, but characteristically so: Giles in a tweed suit, Dawn in a simple scoop-necked dress, Willow and Tara in blouses and long, flowing skirts, Xander in a slightly rumpled suit paired with tennis shoes, Anya in a very modern, off-the-shoulder, up-to-the-minute stylish dress, Angel in a silk shirt dress shirt and pressed slacks, Cordelia decked to the nines in a designer dress and pumps, and Oz in jeans and a blazer over a T-shirt; all black, of course. The sun beats down on them from above in the typical fashion of a Southern California midday, but it's as if none of them can feel it.  
  
They're all stoic; each and every single one. Anya doesn't know enough to cry, but Xander and Tara have already cried themselves out. Cordelia's red eyes are hidden behind her designer sunglasses, while Angel is as stone-faced as Giles and Oz. They all assume that Dawn is like Xander and Tara, but she simply looks at her sister's casket, empty except for a pile of sand for weight, with a faint smile. It's Willow that's the exception, however. Amazingly enough, she hasn't cried at all. She feels a little bit guilty about it, but she knows that Buffy would understand - she's got all of them to take care of, after all. Breaking down is the last thing she needs right now.  
  
She really wishes Spike were still here, to offer some advice and a good dose of his trademark sarcasm. She's been acting on total overload ever since he left. Having Giles here helps. Even having Oz helps a bit, despite the tension between the two of them being so thick that she's sure she could cut it with a knife. But the unnerving thing is knowing that no matter how much she wants or needs them here, sooner or later, Giles will have to go back to England, Angel and Cordy back to L.A, and Oz will slip off without a goodbye back to wherever the hell he was and she'll be left all alone; the worst part is not knowing what will happen next.  
  
She supposes now that she knows somewhat how Buffy felt; having to take everything day by day, never knowing what was coming. They all lived a bit like that, but Buffy more than any of them. They could never hope to understand what it was like to live as the Slayer, with their days numbered. But Willow feels a smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she thinks that perhaps, by gaining this sudden insight, it has brought her just a little bit closer to her friend.  
  
"I'm gonna slip away for a minute and get some peace and quiet, OK?" she murmurs to Xander and Tara on either side of her. Tara squeezes her arm in a silent vote of support while Xander just nods numbly. Sending false smiles at everyone else, she makes her way to the other end of the cemetery where a wooden bench beckons to her tired feet.  
  
She sighs as she sits; she's pretty sure it's the first time she's been off her feet since she heard the news. There's just been so much to do, what with planning the funeral. No that the planning in itself was the difficult part; no, being that the funeral home was in Sunnydale, they'd had no problem arranging the funeral in a day; the attendant hadn't even batted an eyelash when Willow had told him that they had no body to bury. They'd buried a pile of sand instead. Buried in the sand was a picture of Buffy and the cross necklace Angel had given her; the cross that had become her protection, her shield.  
  
Getting the others here hadn't been hard, either; as soon as they heard what had happened, Angel and Cordelia had taken Angel's car, while Giles had hopped a plane. He only got here a few hours ago, in fact, and is still jet-lagged. She can tell by the way he keeps forgetting to clean his glasses.  
  
No, making plans wasn't the hard part; the hard part was holding together as she did.  
  
It's probably hit Xander hardest of all, second only to Dawn, Willow muses. He's had so little love in his life that this is like a punch in the gut to him - taking away one of the people that loved him so dearly, that he loved just as much if not more so in return. He feels bad about blaming Spike, and keeps trying to apologize, no matter how much she insists that it isn't necessary. To her, it's just the natural human reaction of looking for someone or something to blame it on. To Xander, it's just one more thing to feel guilty about.  
  
She's glad to see Tara, in contrast, taking it so well. But then again, she's dealt with death before. And she hadn't known Buffy anywhere near as long as the others had. She'd been getting closer to her these last few months, though, Willow recalls. She can remember them getting together for lunch every so often. She never questioned where they went or what they talked about, just respected their friendship. But now, however, she weeps inside as she remembers every minute she spent without Buffy. Oh, to have that time back...  
  
She has to blink back tears as her gaze moves on to Dawnie, both for the teenager's sake and her own. Really, if she wants to get all technical, Dawn's known Buffy for a shorter time that any of them. Of course, as with anything on the Hellmouth, reality's not what counts. What counts is that this poor, grieving girl has lost the sister that she remembers as her mentor, teacher, best friend, and hero all rolled into one. And to make it even worse, it hasn't even been a year since Joyce's death. First her mother, now her sister and surrogate brother. Willow feels a sharp pang of sympathy for the girl - she knows what it's like to feel alone in the world.  
  
Anya, for one of the first times she can remember, is silent and serious. She seems to have learned from her mistakes, because she refrains from asking taboo questions like what they do to dead bodies before they bury them. She's silent and supportive at Xander's arm, giving him the strength he so desperately needs, and there's somewhat of a calmness about her, as if she's managed to finally gain some insight into human life, even if it has to do with such a horrible subject as death.  
  
Angel, in stark contrast, is all depressed and glowery. Then again, she's rarely seen him look any other way. There's a sadness in his eyes that was there when he and Buffy parted ways, but is now intensified a thousand-fold. Willow doubts that the sadness will ever leave. And at the same time, she wonders how he's going to survive. It's never been a secret that Angel's life depended on Buffy, whether they were together or not; as did hers on his. But what now, now that she's gone? She worries about him.  
  
He's got Cordy to look out for him, though. And - Willow can't believe she's saying this - she's glad for that fact. It's obvious that they care for each other, although how deeply and in what way she's not sure she wants to know - not because she thinks he's betraying Buffy or anything, but because the thought is more than a little disturbing. After all, no matter how much she changes, she'll always be Cordy - the May Queen; the cheerleader; the bitch. She has changed alot, though, Willow notes. She seems a bit less whiny, a bit more mature, and a bit less the spoiled little rich girl. But having the IRS take away your house can do that to a person. Willow doesn't dwell on Angel and Cordelia's relationship, she just hopes they're happy. Or as happy as any of them can be.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Giles, and turns to observe him now. He, along with Angel, Xander, Dawn, and her self, is one of the worst ones affected by this. He's been trying to slip back into his parenting role ever since he got here, but it's almost as if he's forgotten how. Willow herself has taken on that role now. After all, she learned from the best. She knows it's been hard on him - accepting the fact that his Slayer no longer needs - needed - a Watcher. Just as hard as it had been on Buffy herself. And some part of her knows that Giles will always blame himself for her death. Heck, even if he'd been here - Watching her, teaching her, protecting her, fighting alongside her - he'd still have blamed himself, she admits. It's in his nature. Willow looks at him and sees the man she loves as a father, but with a haunted look about him that's not just due to the jet lag. Only time will help him - and alot of it. Willow wishes for about the millionth time in the past half-hour that this day would just end. Now.  
  
But there's still Oz. Silent, sturdy, comforting, achingly familiar Oz. And still loyal to a fault, apparently. The glances he keeps shooting her are making her burn and shiver at the same time, yet she can't bring herself to say anything to him just yet. Wait, that's not right - it's more that she can't think of anything to say to him that won't sound too forced and artificial. That won't send one of them or the other - probably herself - bursting into hysterics, tears, or a fit of rage. No, she seriously doubts that neutrality exists between her and Oz any longer. She's betting on him disappearing as soon as the funeral's over without a word - not that he's ever needed any. But despite the fact that so much as looking at him makes her want to scream in frustration, she's glad he came. It shows that he still cares for all of them, regardless of his feelings for her, and it was that sort of nobility that drew her to him in the first place.  
  
Oz. Seeing him brings back memories of the "old days" - days back when they were still in high school; back when they were young and carefree and stupid and completely oblivious to the harshness of the "real world" that awaited them. She wishes she had those days back now.   
  
For the first time since Spike dropped the bomb on them all, Willow began to cry. She's not sure how long she sits there, the tears streaming down her face, but when they finally slow to a trickle, she feels oddly refreshed.  
  
With a sigh, she stands. It's time to go; time to venture back to the grave, to put her best friend in the ground. She sniffs back a final tear, done with crying. From now on, she's the strong one; the Giles.  
  
As she prepares to approach the group once again, she pauses, feeling...something. A presence. Warm and familiar and...no. She shakes her head. It can't be - it's impossible. Things will be much better when she can just stop imagining things like this. But that feeling, that presence...so real...  
  
With one last look around, Willow marches resolutely back to the small congregation of past and present Scoobies, ready to be the strong one, and silently wishes her best friend well wherever she may be.  
  
~*~  
  
She stands, watching. Off to the side, safely hidden from both the sunlight and the group in front of her. She sees Willow's head jerk up and look around, and she tenses, prepared to run if need be, knowing that the Witch senses her. But finally, she just walks away, and Buffy breathes a deep sigh of relief.   
  
For what seems like an eternity, there is nothing but silence. Willow rejoins the group, exchanging hand-clasps and hugs, and they murmur sadly to one another in voices so low that Buffy can't discern actual words. She watches Oz with a fond smile, because now she knows what it's like to be the outsider looking in.  
  
And all of a sudden it hits her. Well, not quite hits her, per se; more like all of the sudden she's forced to accept it: that she's no longer a Scooby, but the very thing against which they fought. It's hard, becoming the enemy. Although in this group, that's not always a problem. Oz found out that he was Wolf-Boy, Angel lost his soul and went homicidal on them all, Giles turned into a Fyarl demon, Willow lost control of her magic, Tara thought she was a demon, Dawn turned out to be the Key, Anya was a man-hating demon for 1120-plus years, and Cordy had been a bitch to all of them in the very beginning before becoming a part of the group. But their misgivings had all been forgiven and forgotten. Even Spike, the Master Vampire who had tried to kill them all time and time again, had been begrudgingly made sort of an honorary Slayerette, after all he'd done and gone through for and with them.  
  
But her situation is different, Buffy tells herself. This change wasn't a mistake or an accident or a misunderstanding; she'd had full and complete control of her body when she'd given it to Spike to claim as his own. What's her excuse, then? What can she possibly say to these people, her best friends, to make them understand?  
  
Nothing, she finally realizes. There's nothing she can say or do to set things right except what she already has planned. Running away. Not the most mature decision, but the best one nonetheless. Spike was right, back in the Bronze, what seems like lifetimes ago: she is his. She belongs in the shadows, with him.  
  
She doesn't jump in surprise like a human would when she feels the cool, strong pair of arms embrace her from behind; she would have heard him coming a mile away. And if she hadn't heard him, she would've felt him. She leans back into his embrace, wondering what she would do without him. He kisses her temple gently.  
  
"We should go, luv," he murmurs into her hair. She nods.  
  
"In a minute," she promises. He kisses her again before dashing from the shade to the car, leaving her standing under this tree as she requested, watching the small group of people that at one time were all she had. Now all she has is him.  
  
With her final moments before her, she takes one long last look around the cemetery. This is it; the last she may ever see of Sunnydale.  
  
And somehow, that thought is no longer as sad as it once was.  
  
She turns, not able to bring herself to say goodbye, and enters the car.  
  
"Are you ready, luv?" he asks.  
  
"I'm ready." He reaches over, takes her hand, and starts the car.  
  
They drive straight out of Sunnydale.  
  
And she doesn't look back. 


End file.
